


Living History

by MinervaFan



Category: Sarah Jane Adventures
Genre: Gen, None - Freeform, except this may be kind of sad.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-03
Updated: 2008-04-03
Packaged: 2020-03-02 11:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18810106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaFan/pseuds/MinervaFan
Summary: Sarah and her crew are entrusted with a priceless legacy.





	Living History

_Out of the sky he fell, the traveler with no name. Into the mist he fell, lost and alone, forgotten. He looked up at unfamiliar stars and with the wind and the grass sang pity for his race._

_The gods heard his cry and found mercy for him. They sent him an angel, a teller of histories, an alien woman with kind voice and gentle ways, to share the gift of memory._

Sarah Jane Smith yawned heavily, pulling a small inhaler from her handbag. She hated using this stuff, but she’d learned the hard way that sometimes a little extra help was necessary. There was no telling what she’d find on these late night rescue missions, and unfortunately, she was rarely in top form at four in the morning.

She pressed the canister to her lips, tensing in anticipation, then pushed down the trigger and inhaled. “Ugh!” she groaned as a shudder overtook her entire body. The gas was disgusting, a hard-flavored muck Mister Smith had concocted, safer and about ten times more effective than coffee, but still absolutely awful. She shuddered again, blinking her eyes rapidly as the gas liquefied and trailed its way down her throat. Mister Smith might be the smartest computer on Earth, perhaps even in the Solar system, but he had a lot to learn when it came to human taste buds.

Then the buzz hit her, a burst of sheer energy pulsing through her entire body. It was ecstatic, a rush of well-being, courtesy of a concentrated, high-impact nutrient spray far more potent than the junk sold in stores. And it had her back awake, back on task, and back in her element in no time. “Right then,” she said, tucking the tiny canister into her bag and tossing the strap over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

The craft had come down just east of London, about a thirty minute drive out of town. Even at this time of night, she would have thought the military would be on it already, but the road had been eerily quiet. She was lucky. Mister Smith had spotted the craft on his long-range scans and, extrapolating the trajectory of the landing, had sent her to the site far ahead of any of the military teams.

Tugging her jacket around her shoulders, Sarah Jane headed in the general direction of the wreckage, frequently glancing at her watch for guidance. There was too much cloud coverage for moonlight, so she went by torch, flashing expanded beams of light at the wet grass as she picked her way through the field. A low fog was hovering just above her, and again she was glad she’d not wakened Luke to come with her. Aliens just didn’t understand about school nights.

She tripped over a hard root, although the tree once attached to it was no longer anywhere to be found. The entire field had been leveled for an industrial complex back in the 90s, but when the bottom fell out of the economy, the project had fallen through and the property lay dormant, littered with For Sale signs and assorted rubbish.

“Okay, my friend,” Sarah Jane said to no one in particular, as she could barely see beyond the end of her arms. “Where are you hiding?” She was thankful there was no fire; perhaps the craft had been so small and the descent so smooth that it had escaped notice by the authorities. “Good luck,” she muttered, twisting her foot out of a muddy patch. “By daybreak, any evidence of this crash will be vanished.” Mister Smith had been specific about the location, and about the fact that the spacecraft was manned. But aside from that, he’d had very little information.

The field itself was hilly, and Sarah found that even with the energy boost from Mister Smith’s Miracle Elixir, she was having to work pretty hard against the elements. By the time she made it over the second hill and saw the smoking wreckage, she was breathing heavily, sweat chilling her through her clothes.

Still, she managed to descend the hill at a near run, slowing only to regain her footing from time to time in the wet, slippery grass. The craft was in several relatively large pieces—Mister Smith had been correct, it was a small craft, couldn’t have carried more than one person. Unless, of course, the occupants were extremely tiny. Then it could be a colony ship, for all she knew. You could never tell with aliens.

Once she reached the crash site, Sarah picked her way carefully through the wreckage. There was smoke, and several of the metal hull fragments glowed slightly with the heat from entry into the atmosphere. Within moments, she found what appeared to be the cockpit. Pulling a pair of heavy industrial gloves from her bag, she put them on and tugged carefully at the hatch. It didn’t budge. She took off one glove, retrieved her sonic lipstick, and aimed it at the locking mechanism. “Come on,” she murmured as the red glow worked its magic on the lock. She put away the lipstick, gloved her hand again, and tried once more.

The hatch lifted with a soft pneumatic hiss, exhaling smoke into the already foggy night. Sarah Jane covered her mouth, but the smoke dissipated before it could do any harm. Cautiously, she leaned in, playing her light inside the cabin. A single occupant lay strapped into place, the alien reading that had been guiding her to this spot.

Sarah lifted her wrist, checked out the display on her watch.

The alien was still alive.

She breathed in heavily. “Hey,” she said softly. She kept her distance, not wanting to startle an injured stranger who might be very afraid (not to mention very dangerous). “Do you need help?”

The alien moaned, a lyrical trill in the low-range of what might have been a woman’s voice, or a high-pitched male. Sarah couldn’t tell from this angle what gender the alien was, nor did she really care. She didn’t have much time, and that muck on the creature’s clothing looked suspiciously like green blood.

“I’m here to help you,” she said, playing the light so that the creature could see her. The translation device on her watch should be working. It wasn’t as effective as the TARDIS had been, but at least it got the point across. “I won’t harm you.”

“Harm—no?” The alien’s voice translated through the warbles as masculine, so until corrected, he would be a he. He was moving slowly now, and more of his face came into the cone of light offered by her torch. “Hurt.”

“You’re hurt,” Sarah agreed. She was devouring the readings from her watch. Oxygen breather, nothing toxic or harmful either in his exhalations or the blood on his clothes. It should be safe to touch him. “I can help you. I’m going to get you out of there; take you some place safe.” She didn’t bother with the wreckage. Mister Smith was tracking her progress and, by hacking into various satellites, would get all the data they needed. She could focus her attention on the occupant, who did not fight when she tugged him free of the restraining straps.

“You—understand?”

“Yes,” she said. “I have a device to translate. It isn’t perfect, but it works.” She eased him out of the cockpit. “Can you stand?” He answered by elongating his form, taking full advantage of the leverage she offered to balance himself on two limbs. He was humanoid, bipedal, slightly built, and stood about half a head taller than Sarah. It was too dark and foggy to get any more details, but he was not heavy as he leaned against her for support. “Good. My car is just at the road. Tell me what you need, and I’ll take it with us.”

“My…ship…”

“We don’t have the resources to salvage it. There are others coming, and we don’t have much time. I can get you to safety, but we’ll have to travel light.”

This seemed to be enough for the alien, who gestured with a long, slender hand towards a small box in the wreckage. It was made of a thick hide-like material, and tucked easily under Sarah’s arm as they hurried through the mist to where her car waited on the road. She could almost feel _them_ coming, her instincts long since honed to any sign of government interference, both above board and not quite so. She checked her watch, and yes, there were several vehicles approaching at high speed on the road she’d taken only minutes earlier.

She made a note to leave by a different route.

“It’s just a little way further,” she said. The alien said nothing, but his breathing seemed labored, and every once in a while he trilled in discomfort. “”Just over that hill. You can do it.”

“Yes,” the alien whispered. “Your…name?”

Sarah shook her head. Rudeness, that’s all it was. She’d spent too much of her impressionable youth with the Doctor. “I’m sorry. I’m Sarah. Sarah Jane Smith.”

The alien, spotting the car in the distance, gestured toward it. “Vehicle?”

“Yes, that’s my car. It’ll get us to safety.”

“Yes…Sayrahjen.”

It was close enough, and Sarah grunted as her foot stubbed on another abandoned root. Her mobile was ringing now, and the alien jumped as she pulled it from her pocket and flipped it open. “What?”

It was Mister Smith’s voice. “Sarah Jane, are you aware that there are four large vehicles less than five miles from your location?”

“I know that—oof.” She hit another root with the toe of her boot and swore under her breath. “Can you uplink the data from my watch? We have one survivor, and he’s pretty badly hurt.”

“I will do so immediately. I am downloading a new route into your watch. Please drive carefully.”

“Thanks,” she said, and flipped the phone shut. “Here we are, then,” she said to the alien. He didn’t seem to understand what to do, so she had him lean against the car while she opened the passenger door, and helped him ease his way into the seat. She pulled a blanket from back seat and tucked it over her new friend. “This will keep you warm,” and hidden, if necessary. “It won’t be long till we’re home, but you’ll need to do exactly as I say while we’re driving. Do you understand?”

The alien nodded. From the overhead light, she could see that he was very human looking, pale-skinned with short-cropped dark hair, a normal guy—except for the fact that every hair on her arm stood at attention when she looked at him. There was a certain _alienness_ about him—eyes too far apart, nose too slanted. There were dark shadows under his eyes, making him look even more hollow, even more different. In another time, he might have been mistaken for one of the elves, maybe, or a changeling.

As it was, Sarah Jane very much doubted Torchwood would be very happy she’d gotten to him first.

She very much doubted she cared.

**

It was half five when she finally got him back to Bannerman Road, between the fog and the circuitous route Mister Smith had set for her. The energy booster was still working for Sarah Jane, but judging by his unhealthy slump in the seat next to her, her visitor was not faring so well. "Just a bit further, mate," she whispered to him as she pulled into the drive. "I've got a friend who might be able to help you."

"Hurt…" was all he could say.

"I know. I know." She stopped the car far enough away from the gate to block the view of any early bird busy-bodies from the neighborhood. She never knew who might be glancing her way from a window or passing car to notice her dragging in a staggering male at five-thirty in the morning. "Might improve my reputation with most of this lot," she muttered and got out the car. She opened the house door first, then came back for her friend. He was weaker than before, and she practically had to carry him from the car to the house. "Just a bit more. You can do it. Oh, lord," she said to herself as she saw the stairwell looming between them and Mister Smith. "Okay, this might be a bit harder than we thought."

"Is that an alien?"

Luke's voice from the doorway to the next room startled her to the point she almost dropped the sagging alien. "Oi! Don't ever sneak up on me like that! What are you doing up at this time of the morning?"

"Sorry, Mum. I woke up and you were gone. I asked Mister Smith, and he told me you were investigating a crash.” Her fourteen year old son stared at the creature in her arms, and Sarah followed his gaze for a quick moment. In the house light, the alien was less human looking, more oddly colored, finer featured, than he’d appeared out in the fog. His hair, or what looked like hair, was coarse and dark, cut close against an angular skull. His eyes, which had seemed owlish and large in the night, blinked slowly, too slowly, as he looked from Sarah Jane to Luke and back again.

“This is my son,” she told him, heaving him slightly higher at her side, his arm draped over her shoulder. “Luke.” She turned back to Luke, who was still staring, dressed in his pajama bottoms and _Star Trek_ t-shirt, hair disheveled and spiking up at odd intervals. “Who is of course going to help his poor mum, right?”

“Yes,” Luke said quickly, and hurried to her side to ease himself under the alien’s arm. “What’s your name?” he asked the alien as he lifted him easily onto his much younger shoulders and took the bulk of the weight off Sarah Jane.

The alien turned to Sarah Jane, then back to Luke, and emitted a series of low, hollow sounds from deep in his chest.

Sarah smiled as they begin to help him up the stairs. “Tried half a dozen times on the drive back. I don’t think our mouths can actually make that sound.”

Luke tried as they eased him slowly, step by step, towards the attic and Mister Smith. The alien, despite his pain, gave what appeared to be a pained smile at the effort, and repeated his name once more.

“I’ve settled on Eddie,” Sarah gasped as they stopped to rest at the landing half way up.

“Why Eddie?”

She cast an appraising look at her guest before beginning their ascent once more. “He looks like an Eddie. Do you mind if I call you that?”

The alien considered it, then nodded. “Eddie is good.”

“Eddie is very good,” Sarah repeated as they hiked the last few steps to the attic door. “We’re almost there. You can rest once we get into the attic, and I’ll have my computer Mister Smith scan you completely for injuries.” She paused as Luke opened attic door, and they brought Eddie up into the attic.

Mister Smith was already up and running when they entered. Built into the wall and able to conceal himself when not in use, the alien computer had learned not to blast his usual fanfare startup music after a certain hour at night. “Hello, Sarah Jane,” he said in his pleasant, perfectly modulated masculine voice.

“Hello, Mister Smith,” she said as she helped Eddie to the couch and lay him down. “Can you please perform a complete medical scan on our guest?”

He released a double beam of pinkish red light in the alien’s direction. On contact with Eddie, the two beams separated, one scanning from the torso upwards, the other down to his feet, then back together again. “I have been studying the initial data you transmitted from the crash site, and have been unable to ascertain the alien’s planet of origin. He is not in my database.”

Sarah and Luke both shot him surprised looks. Mister Smith was a mega-computer, with information from several galaxies stored in his memory. “That’s…unusual,” Luke said. “Can you help him?”

“I believe I have a basic grasp of his anatomy, but I cannot be certain of the nuances without more data. Sarah Jane, are you aware that our guest is unable to breathe?”

Sarah turned quickly to Eddie, whose eyes if possible were even larger and wider as he silently struggled for breath. She rolled him onto his side, which only made things worth.

“In addition to minor scrapes on his epidermis, I have detected a slight laceration in what appears to be his lung. That position is putting pressure on his lungs and causing the distress. You must help him to his feet.”

“He’s exhausted. He needs rest.” But even as she protested, Sarah helped the panting alien to his feet. Within seconds, his breath returned to normal, and he cast a grateful glance at the computer. “You can’t stand here all night. Mister Smith, can you close the tear in his lungs?”

“Yes I can, quite easily. However, it will take time for the wound to heal fully.”

“Do it, please.” She put her hand on Eddie’s arm, giving him what she hoped he’d perceive as a reassuring smile. “It won’t hurt. I promise.”

Mister Smith released a second beam of energy, this time dark green, and aimed it to the point on Eddie’s body where a human’s hip would normally meet the pelvis. The beam lingered for several seconds, and then, stopped abruptly. “I have mended the tear.”

Eddie’s eyes blinked hard, then he tilted his head slightly. “The pain…has gone.”

“Good,” Sarah said. “Good. How are we going to…you’re going to need some place to rest. But we can’t have you suffocating.”

“There…” Eddie pointed to the padlocked space on the wall. Sarah and Luke knew that behind that door, K-9, Sarah’s robotic best friend, was busy patching up a rift created by a man-made black hole.

“You can’t sleep in there,” Luke said quietly.

"Not…in…” Eddie moved slowly towards the door. “On.” Leaning forward, he pressed his hands flat against the metal door. On contact, they spread wide, web-like, and locked onto the surface. Then, in a single graceful motion, his legs lifted backwards and folded up until his feet were tucked at his neck. His entire body folded slightly into itself, head tucking into his arms, torso bending upwards to secure his legs, and a membrane stretched from his abdomen, enfolding his body until he was hanging from the wall like a chrysalis. “Rest,” came from deep within the cocoon.

Sarah blinked hard, then looked at Luke, who simply smiled with all the unspoiled curiosity of a newborn. “Okay, then. You should get some rest, too. You have school tomorrow.”

“I’d normally be getting up in an hour anyway. Would you like some tea?”

She closed her eyes hard. She should make them both go to bed and get some rest. But she was too wired from her trip, and it didn’t seem right to make him go back to bed for what would in essence be less than an hour’s sleep. “Tea would be lovely. Mister Smith, will you keep an eye on Eddie for us?”

“Yes, Sarah Jane,” he said as they headed downstairs. “Enjoy your tea.”

**

Sarah had gone back to sleep around seven after seeing Luke off to school and checking on their guest once more. Her work was such that she could set her own schedule, and sometimes her late hours made it impossible to do the nine to five routine. Good thing, too, because when Mister Smith’s energy serum finally did wear down, it left her groggy and exhausted and wanting nothing more than to curl up in her warm bed.

Around half two in the afternoon, she dragged herself out of bed, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn to find Eddie. Stopping in the loo on her way up to the attic, she groaned at her disheveled reflection in the mirror. Sarah brushed her teeth quickly, eschewing make-up and tying her hair up in a quick ponytail before heading upstairs to check on her houseguest. She took the stairs quickly but quietly in case Eddie was still…hibernating.

When she entered the attic, the alien was awake and looking through her possessions with curiosity. He turned to greet her, eyes wide at the differences in her appearance. “Good afternoon, Sarah Jane,” he said in perfectly accented English. “You’ve changed your hair.”

She put her hand self-consciously to the knot at the back of her head. “Yeah, well…hey, the translator’s working!” She turned to Mister Smith, who was scrolling through a series of schematics at a rate that made her eyes hurt.

“Before the crash, I was able to establish a link with the navigational computer on…” the computer flawlessly recited the progression of sounds that formed Eddie’s true name. _Show off,_ Sarah thought uncharitably, swearing she could hear an apostrophe-S at the end. “…craft. I took the liberty of extracting basic linguistic building blocks from the data I received and integrating them into the translation protocols. You should have no trouble understanding each other now.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Good afternoon, Sarah Jane.”

She stared at her computer, impressed and slightly amused. She was absolutely sure she was dabbling in anthropomorphism, but she always got the impression that Mister Smith tended to show off in front of aliens. “Good work, Mister Smith, and thank you.” Turning to Eddie, she winced when she saw him holding an antique blowgun she’d received on a trip to Guiana in the 80s. “Please,” she started. “Could you…please…put that down? It’s rather old and…” _Not loaded,_ she reminded herself, although it was still never a good practice to let strange aliens have access to any weapons while guesting in your home. “Breakable.” She stepped forward, extracting the weapon from his hand and placing on an upper shelf of the book case. “You’re looking much better this afternoon.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving Sarah Jane. “Your computer, Mister Smith, has informed me that you saved my life this morning. I am in your debt.”

Sarah grinned. “It’s all in a day’s work. Are you hungry?”

Eddie paused, then nodded. “I believe I am.”

“Mister Smith, is our food safe for him?”

“Avoid highly acidic foods. Otherwise, Earth food is compatible with his system.”

Sarah offered her hand. “It’s just about time for tea, if you’re interested. I’m not the best cook in the world, but I haven’t poisoned anyone yet. You can tell me about yourself while we eat, and we can try to figure out a way to get you where you need to go.”

“Thank you.”

As they started to leave, Mister Smith stopped them. “Sarah Jane? I need to speak with you in private, please. It will only take a moment.”

She turned to Eddie, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Go on downstairs. I’ll just be a minute. After tea, I’ll get you some clothes to change into after you’ve cleaned up.” Eddie nodded and headed out the door and down the stairs. Once he was well out of earshot, Sarah Jane closed the door and turned to Mister Smith. “Well?”

“I noticed something on my initial scan of…” Again, the full alien name. “But I was unable to speak with you privately until now. Take a look at this.”

A linear schematic of Eddie’s body came on to the screen and swiftly zoomed in to focus on the area where a human clavicle would be. Mister Smith tightened the image until Sarah Jane could make out a small, bullet-shaped dark spot. “What is it?” she asked.

“I do not know, Sarah Jane. I am unable to scan the darkened area. This image is a composite of several different points of views, superimposed on top of each other. The darkened area shows a space where my scans could not read data.” Sarah moved closer to the computer, squinting for a better look. “It was only when I combined the images that I became aware the scans had missed something.”

“You mean, there’s nothing there?”

“I mean, I cannot scan this area. It may be nothing, or it may be the result of cloaking technology unknown to me.”

Sarah took a moment to digest that. There was precious little, from her point of view, that Mister Smith did not know. And here was a dark little bullet of the unknown staring her right in the face. “Is it dangerous?”

“I cannot ascertain the level of danger without significantly more information, Sarah Jane.” There was a pause, then he continued, zooming out the image until it showed the entire body. One after another, dark spots appeared on the image, until the computerized Eddie looked like a leopard. “I have detected 249 dark areas.”

“Oh…kay…” Sarah’s instincts were grinding, a million thoughts at once, her nerves tingling. She didn’t sense danger, although she’d been wrong before, but she did sense something not quite right. “Could they be some sort of weapon?”

“It is possible. Or it could be contraband, shielded individually to avoid detection by authorities.”

Sarah went over to the desk, where she’d put the box she’d saved from the wreckage. “What about this?” She held it up to Mister Smith to scan.

“I cannot scan this. It appears to be lined with the same material as the pellets within the alien. Can you open the box?”

Sarah opened the latch on the container, and placed it on Mister Smith’s tray for closer examination. There was a noticeable pause as Mister Smith scanned the box. Sarah Jane could almost swear she heard amazement in his voice when he continues. “If my scans are correct, this box contains a significant quantity—almost two ounces—of krylhoteen composite.”

“Is that good? Or bad?” Sarah realized that she sounded very much like Luke in that moment.

“Krylhoteen composite is extremely rare. Every known deposit in the galaxy was depleted over six thousand years ago due to overmining. Anecdotally, the War of the Stone Gods was fought for thirty-five decades on Palacis to gain access to the Palaceen store of the composite. The High Council of Janek Prime was…”

“I don’t have time for the full history lesson. How much would you say this stuff is worth?” She looked over her shoulders, suddenly a lot more concerned about what she had brought under her roof.

“The value of even a small quantity of krylhoteen composite is immeasurable by today’s standards, as there is no rate of exchange for what is basically an extinct product.”

“So, he’s got a treasure chest and several hidden places on his body.” She looked up at Mister Smith. “Are you sure his craft was damaged by a meteor? Not shot down by somebody after that krylhoteen?”

“I am certain, Sarah Jane. There are no other vessels in range at this time. Also, my analysis of the wreckage, combined with the trajectory of the crash, indicate a recent impact. It is unlikely that he has been followed.”

“Still, I say we figure out what it is quick and get him on his way.”

“That may not be possible, Sarah Jane.” The image on his view-screen shifted, and Sarah Jane saw tiny halos of dark red light pulsing around the black spots. “This is a time-lapse view of my scans of the alien during his sleep. You will note the areas of discoloration around the dark spaces.”

“Radiation of some sort?”

“Cell deterioration, possibly as a reaction to whatever is contained in the dark spaces. The damage was undetectable during my initial scan, but has grown exponentially over the last eight hours.” The image on his monitor changed, and Sarah recognized the wreckage of the ship. Mister Smith zoomed in to pinpoint a specific item, highlighting it for her benefit. “This appears to be a cryostatic generator. From the size and composition of the ship, I believe our guest has been in cryogenic stasis for the majority of his journey. Perhaps that process slowed the cellular deterioration.”

“And now that he’s awake, there’s nothing to protect him.” Sarah shook her head. “Is it dangerous to us?”

“No. Whatever is causing the cellular degeneration is contained within the alien. There are no effects outside of his body.”

“Can we get any more information from the wreckage?”

“A U.N.I.T. field crew cleared the area of all debris before daybreak this morning. Torchwood arrived thirty-seven minutes too late.”

She had to smile. “They’re slipping. But at least we have the survivor. He seems nice enough, although looks can be deceiving. I want you to keep your eye on him while he’s here, Mister Smith.” She checked her watch. “Keep plugged into my watch. Eavesdrop. Anything you can use, any name, any reference, search it, find out what you can. I’m going to try to find out where he’s from, where he’s going, and what in the world would be so important that he’d risk his life to smuggle it inside his own body.”

“If you want to know the answer to those questions, Sarah Jane, I suggest we find them quickly.”

She frowned. “Mister Smith, what are you saying?”

“At the current rate of cellular degeneration, our visitor will be dead in less than seven days.”

**

He was standing in the living room when she came down, thumbing through the pages of one of her books. “Sarah Jane,” he asked without preamble. “What is this object? I noticed several of them in the room upstairs, and even more down here.”

“It’s a book,” she said, taking it from his hand and examining the cover. With a small laugh, she added, “In fact, it’s one of mine.” At his curious look, she turned the book so that the cover illustration was facing him. A giant insect was chasing a dark-haired young woman, along with two men, one in stocking feet and the other in a brown coat, hat and ridiculously long multicolored scarf, through the pristine white corridors of a space station.

“ _The Astounding Ark in Space_ , by S.J. Smith. I wrote it years ago when I was desperate for money. Always hated using _S.J._ …” He gave her a blank look. “It’s a book. A story—“ Sarah Jane opened it and showed him the printed words. “These symbols represent sounds. Used in the proper order, the symbols form words. It’s how we maintain records, communicate, tell stories….”

She began to read, “ _The space station Nirva was not exactly where they’d planned to arrive, but arrive they did, Mary Beth, Elliot, and the Professor of course, still dragging his enormous scarf carelessly behind him. They were no worse for wear, though Elliot did look a bit pink around the ears. He’d not believed the Professor’s claims, and still stubbornly required convincing that travel in time and space was possible, no matter what his five senses told him._ Silliness, really. Meant for children. I changed the names to protect the innocent and still collect the royalties every January.”

“This is a history?”

Sarah smiled ruefully. “Of a sort. It’s my story—it actually happened to me. But nobody would believe me, so I conjured up a narrative and published it as fiction. Kind of a sneaky way to tell the truth, but it pays the bills. Don’t your people have written language?”

“Nothing like this,” he said, examining the pages with wonder. “You constructed this history for your people?”

“I constructed this history for the good people at Bismark Publishing, who printed it out, sold it, and made a nice sum of money in the young adult market re-releasing them every ten years or so. I still get fan mail, if you can imagine!”

“But you created it? You are a teller of histories?” His eyes grew wide, and an expression of respect crossed his face.

“I’m a journalist,” she said. “I investigate news, and try to tell the truth to as many people as possible through my writing. That’s my job.”

“But you saved me from the wreckage—I had thought you were perhaps a member of your government, or a medical caregiver—“

“Rescuing aliens in distress is just a sideline.” She eyed him curiously. “Now that you’re feeling a little better, why don’t we go make that tea? Perhaps you can tell me just exactly what happened to you out there.”

But Eddie continued to stare at her, studying her carefully with those enormous wide eyes of his. “My vessel is destroyed?” he asked plainly. When Sarah nodded, he continued quickly. “Is there a ship I can borrow? Passage I can book off this world? Just a small vessel, capable of getting me—“

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a ship. Earth is only a level five planet; we haven’t even sent manned flights to our nearest neighboring planet yet. Technically, we’re not even supposed to know aliens exist.”

“But you do, and you saved me. You are a teller of histories, you will understand my plight.” His skin had begun to prickle, goose-bumping with agitation. “I must think. I must consider. What to do, what to do?”

“Okay, slow down. Slow down, and tell me what is going on.”

He stared at her, and a small sheen of silver moisture appeared on his face. “So much we have sacrificed, so much we have risked. It cannot all be lost now.”

“Okay, that’s it. Off to the kitchen with us. I will make us some tea, and you will tell me your story. All right?”

Eddie nodded, sadly, and followed her into the kitchen where she bade him sit down while she pulled out the kettle and tea. He watched her only partially as she set the kettle to boil, pulled the biscuits out of the cupboard and arranged them nicely on a plate. Once they were settled, she fixed him with a steady gaze and said, “Tell me everything.”

“You are a teller of histories, Sarah Jane Smith, and most obviously a learned woman. Hear my history, and advise me. I have nothing left to lose, and no one else to turn to.” He began to speak in a slow, musical tone, his voice lowering and rising in pitch to emphasize the narrative. It was obviously a rehearsed speech, perhaps a traditional tale, and while several of the names defied translation, Sarah sat enrapt as Eddie began to speak.

“In the time of my father, when he was but a young man, the Krellin came to our world. Ten and six hundred came that first wave, in gleaming ships with weapons fierce. Oh, but the sadness brought to the people of my world. Oh, the loss and devastation. For it is known to the gods that the people of my world were tenders of the land, with hands geared to peace and not war. The invaders came and forsake all thoughts of peace, all thoughts of cooperation. ‘Give us your treasure,’ they demanded, and began to kill those who offered their hands in friendship. Those of my father’s generation knew nothing of treasure, other than the goodness of the land, the bounty produced by hard work and obedience to the gods. Prayers went up night and day to the gods, cries for understanding, cries for what help could be given.” He lowered his eyes, pausing for a moment at the emotion of the story took him over.

“There were some among my people who learned the ways of the warrior, some who fought back from this injustice. But the Krellin are cruel and merciless masters, and once they had defeated those who fought, the invaders sought revenge, complete and undeniable. No Krellin would laugh while a single member of my race remained happy. To Krellin would sleep while even one of my people rested comfortably in his patch.”

“To punish us for refusing to submit to slavery, for fighting the mining of our holy world, the Krellin began a systematic murder of my people. The strong were enslaved, the weak tortured and killed. But even that was not enough for the Krellin monsters.” He paused, his words choked off.

“Take a sip of the tea,” Sarah said gently. Eddie sipped, his face contorting for the briefest moment of distaste before politeness forced it away. “It’s not to everyone’s taste,” Sarah offered, but he waved her off.

“It is nourishing and generous. I will continue.” She nodded, and he began to speak again in his musical tone. “The Repository at Shillah was the most beautiful place on my world. Harmonious with all life around it, the Repository has served as school and symbol for five hundred plus ten generations. Children are brought to this holy place to learn of our histories, the simple histories of my people. Each song, each harvest, each storm that moved the grain to its music—these are stored here.” The sheen of moisture darkened to a dull grey on his skin, and the prickling intensified. “In the autumn of my nineteenth season, on a moonless night of harvesting, screaming with blood from the skies came the Krellin, ships too many to count, their crude and unnatural machinery darkening the skies in all directions. The gods themselves shook in horror, the gods I say, Sarah Jane Smith, trembled in disgust as the Krellin fiends destroyed the Repository at Shillah, and with it, the legacy of my entire race. All the past ablaze, my people mourned as no race has before mourned, as Lrosth did mourn at the death of her beloved Salmad. All the past ablaze, our future toppled on footless legs, all balance lost, all resonance erased. For what is a people without its history? What is a race without its past? We were destroyed, and the Krellin blight took hold in the very soil, in the very water and air of my planet.”

He paused, lowering his eyes. “This was in my nineteenth season, and for nineteen more seasons I labored in the mines, hacking into our mother world for our overlords’ greed. My soul was as one blind to the simplest of beauties. Then, in the early months of my thirty-eighth season, I met a woman of great import. Her name was Mayra, and she was a teller of tales. She had been a student at the Repository before the destruction, and although she was a learned woman, her back was as strong as any male’s and her courage even stronger. She whispered to me at night of her history, of the stories she remembered, of the other scholars who survived, and she told of the audacious plan, this miraculous endeavor she had concocted to save our people.”

“For it is known the Krellin animals were corrupt, and for the right price could be bribed for extra food or kinder treatment of a sick or elder laborer. By word of mouth she planned, my mouth included, my tongue singing fiercely for freedom. By night, in shadows, we spoke our truth, and slowly, slowly we began to rebuild. Slowly, huddled with the elders in the cold, damp corners, we relearned the tales. With bribes of the very substance we dug from the soil, we secured recording pellets, and through great suffering and sacrifice, bought a single vessel.”

Here he stopped, his eyes glistening, the charcoal colored moisture on his face flowing freely. “This was my vessel, Sarah Jane Smith,” he said, then lifted his hand, drawing a long fingernail across his flesh to pull out a single glowing pellet. “And this is our history.” He handed it to her with a bow.

“Dear god,” she whispered.

“It would take two lifetimes to make the trip to the Council of Principalities, even with a fast ship. We did not have a fast ship. Sarah Jane, there was no hope that my people would survive. Already in my time, Krellin cruelty conspired with illness and starvation to rid the universe of my race. I bear no thoughts of ever seeing my home or my younglings again. Two hundred forty plus nine of these devices I bear, hidden in my flesh, shielded against Krellin technology. As much krylhoteen composite as we could steal from our masters I carry, as a bribe for the Secretaries of the Council, in hopes of gaining an audience with the Master of the Great Library at Anatuk. It was my plan to share with him the history of my people, so that we would not die in oblivion, and so that our overlords might some day face punishment for their crimes.”

He nodded, his story nearing its end, his arms crossed about his chest. Sarah Jane felt herself holding her breath, waiting, hanging on his words. She felt her own sense of loss come back to her—all the worlds she’d seen, all the people she’d known. “Eddie…” she whispered.

“The shielding is poison to me. I knew this before ever I left my home world. It is an honor to die for my people.” He lowered his head. “But now, I find my journey extended, and my purpose in peril. The collision that landed me here destroyed my sleeper devise, pulled me out too early. Without a ship, I cannot complete my journey. Without a ship, I will die and with me, the legacy of an entire civilization. Sarah Jane Smith, you are a woman of learning, a teller of stories, a rescuer of strangers. Do not let this injustice go unanswered. Deliver my story to the Library at Anatuk, by whatever device you may find. Do not allow my people to die forgotten and abandoned.”

Sarah leaned back against the chair, exhausted, saddened. “Oh, man,” she whispered.

“Mum, you are going to help him, aren’t you?” Luke’s voice startled her alert. She turned to see her son standing, along with his friends Clyde Langer and Maria Jackson, in the doorway to the kitchen. All three teens wore stunned expression, eyes wide with horror. She had no idea how much they’d heard, but obviously they’d heard enough to be as repulsed as she was.

“You _are_ going to help him, aren’t you?” Maria asked pointedly. Her thick brown curls were pulled into a braid at the side, and she had loosened the tie of her school uniform in that casual schoolgirl way she had. “Aren’t you, Sarah Jane?”

“I’ll definitely…see what I can do.” She turned to Eddie, who had managed to compose himself. He’d used one of the paper napkins to cleanse the grey tears from his face, and had tucked it neatly into the pocket of his uniform. “Luke, will you and Clyde show our guest where he can clean up? And check the spare wardrobe to see if you can find him a clean outfit. Maria, come with me to the attic. We’ll talk to Mister Smith.” To Eddie, she spoke softly, taking one of his hands in hers. “I don’t know how much I can help. I’ve never heard of this Library at Anatuk, but I will consult with my computer. He knows many things, and might be able to help. Until then, please, go with my son and Clyde, clean up, and we’ll figure something out.”

“You are most gracious, Sarah Jane Smith,” Eddie said, standing to leave with Luke and Clyde. Before he left though, he bowed again. “Most gracious. I am in your debt.”

After they were gone, Sarah heaved a heavy sigh. “All right, Maria,” she said, tugging the young woman into a tired sigh. “Let’s go upstairs and see if Mister Smith can verify any of this story.”

“You think he’s lying?”

Sarah clutched the data pellet lightly, thinking about what Eddie had said, and the enormity of what he’d asked her to do. “Part of me certainly hopes so.”

**

“I have cross-referenced the significant names in his story, primarily the race…” Here, Mister Smith recited the highly unintelligible native name of Eddie’s people. “The Krellin race, the Council of Principalities, and the Library at Anatuk. My records show three hundred fifty matches for the Council of Principalities, one hundred seventy two matches for the Library at Anatuk, one match for the race known as Krellin, and no match for our guest’s species.”

“Of course,” Maria grumbled as she plopped down in the chair across from Sarah. “What did you find on the Krellin?”

“A literary reference to the trial of Harvold the Butcher, a Krellin warlord in p’LinaoChin’s _Harksaolo Trilogy._ The story is considered apocryphal, and no other reference to the Krellin appears in my database.”

“Not much to go on,” Sarah sighed. She had pulled her hair out of the ponytail, and was now reclined on the couch, brushing her fingers absently through her hair. “What about the Council of Principalities? Do you have any contacts with them?”

“That would be impossible, Sarah Jane. The Council of Principalities was disbanded seven hundred forty two years ago under the Seige of MistraSzk, during the—“

“Got it. And the Library?”

“Was destroyed nine thousand six hundred and two years ago.” The computer paused before adding, almost petulantly. “I can tell you the details, if you’d like.”

“You mean to tell me that Eddie has been drifting around in space for over ten thousand years?” Maria asked.

“No, of course not,” Sarah said. “If his planet was in a remote part of the galaxy, they just may have not known about the Library. Or the Council.”

“Sarah Jane, I have analyzed the readings of the hull fragments to determine the age of the materials used to construct his vessel. Our visitor’s ship is over eleven thousand solar years old. A relatively short time-span, cosmologically speaking, but it is an impressive length of time for a ship that size to survive the dangers of space.”

“This is not happening,” Sarah sighed, brushing her dark bangs from her forehead. She was having the beginnings of a pounding headache. “No Krellins, no Council, no Library, and nobody’s even heard of Eddie’s people. Is the pellet really a data chip, or is this all somebody’s idea of an elaborate joke?”

“Once removed from its organic host, the casing rapidly disintegrated, allowing me to scan the object. It is indeed a high-volume data chip, although I am not familiar with the technology. My attempts to access the data stored were unsuccessful. I believe it to be of a biomechanical nature.”

“So we can’t even download their history?” Maria cried. She turned to Sarah, a troubled expression on her pretty young face. “You can’t really think he was making all that up, can you? Sarah Jane, you _heard_ him. He was telling the truth.”

“I agree with Maria, Sarah Jane,” Mister Smith interjected. “It is doubtful that the story is fraudulent. The age of the hull fragments, the presence of the krylhoteen composite, and the esoteric historical references in our guest’s story render it highly implausible that he is engaging in deceit.”

“So here we are,” Sarah Jane said, leaning back into the cushion. “A ten thousand year old alien we can’t send home, an entire species’ history we can’t read, and a Library that was destroyed during the Crusades. What am I going to tell Eddie?”

“There is nothing to tell, Sarah Jane. Nothing at all.” Eddie stood in the doorway, clean and dressed in a brown suit she’d bought at a thrift sale months earlier. She liked to keep several outfits of different sizes on hands, just in case. He looked almost handsome, or would have, were it not for the gray-black tears staining his alien face.

**

It was a depressed group that sat in the attic after supper. Clyde had gone home and returned, as had Maria, bringing her father Alan Jackson with her. Now they all sat quietly, trying to figure out how to remedy this situation.

“Couldn’t we try contacting the Doctor,” Luke suggested, his large eyes hopeful.

“Yeah, he’s got a time machine and all. Couldn’t he go back ten thousand years and get that message through?” Clyde asked. “Or better yet, stop the Krellin from invading Eddie’s home world altogether?”

“No, I thought of that,” Sarah Jane said sadly. “First of all, it’s not like I can just ring the Doctor up on my mobile. And even if I could, I know exactly what he’d say, and I’d have to agree with him.”

“That saving them would inexorably alter the timeline,” Luke said sadly.

Sarah Jane nodded. “Over ten thousand years, who knows what could be changed? The results could be catastrophic.”

“Doesn’t seem fair,” Maria said. She’d been toying with the memory chip, examining it carefully as they brainstormed for ideas. It was a lovely thing, delicately constructed from a pale white material that glistened in the artificial light. “He came all this way.” Turning to Mister Smith, “Are you sure you can’t read it?”

“I have made several further attempts to extract the data. My technology appears to be incompatible with this chip.”

“It’s a shame we don’t have access to his ship,” Sarah said from her seat at the conventional computer she used for her journalism. A spark lit in her eyes. “On the other hand, I still have some pull with U.N.I.T. A few favors I can call in. Eddie, if we could get equipment from your ship, do you think we could devise a reader?”

Eddie stared up at her. He had long since stopped crying, and now sat stoically listening to the discussion. “Reader?”

“A machine, to remove the data from the chip,” Alan offered. “Like a computer.”

“We do not remove the histories with machines,” Eddie said, puzzled. He took the chip from Maria and moved to Sarah’s side. Crouching down next to her, he offered her his hands. With the chip in the palm of his hand, he took hers and held it, concentrating. “Like this.”

Sarah gasped as a series of images flooded her mind, a vast savannah with slate grey grass as high as a grown man swaying in a steady wind, herds of animals grazing placidly, no animals she’d ever dreamed or imagined in her wildest fancy. Not only that, but she could smell the spice from the grass, the mixture of earthiness and a subtle sourness in the air, hear the lowing of the animals as they munched on the grasses. She pulled away, eyes huge, heart pounding. “It was…in my head!” she gasped.

“Our histories are part of us,” Eddie confirmed. “We cannot use machines to tell them.”

“Sarah Jane,” Mister Smith spoke up from his place on the wall. “Is this what you saw?”

The entire group looked up to see the exact scene Sarah had seen flashing across Mister Smith’s monitor, right down to the blades of grass dropping from the jaws of the animals.

“The Welonn Grasslands,” Eddie said wistfully. “My father used to play there as a boy. It is near the village where I was born.”

“How did you do that?” Luke asked.

“During her contact with the chip, I detected a secondary brain pattern in Sarah Jane, a shadow pattern. I was able to analyze it and convert it to audio/visual data. It appears that it is necessary to use an organic interface to extract the data.”

“He means people,” Sarah Jane cried, bounding up from her seat with a burst of energy. “He means _people_! Eddie, we’ve got an answer. All you have to do is show me those chips, have Mister Smith record them, and we’ve got it. It’s all there.”

“And do what with them when we’re done?” Clyde asked. “This library of his has been gone for thousands of years.”

“There are other libraries,” Sarah Jane said, hope giving rise to her voice. “I can contact my friend the Star Poet. We can send your stories everywhere, we can tell your story. After all that’s what I do. I tell stories.” She was giddy with excitement now. “I can do this.”

Alan frowned. “Sarah Jane, that’s almost two hundred and fifty data chips. You can’t possibly receive all of them yourself—“

“We could all help,” Maria suggested, turning to Eddie. “Do you think you could teach us how to use the readers? Mister Smith could monitor us, and we could work in teams.”

Eddie blinked, his energy rising with the rest. Running his fingernail along his forearm, he released another data pellet. He held it tightly in his hand to quicken the disintegration of the shield casing, then handed the delicate chip to Maria, nodding to Clyde. “You must both hold the chip, one as teller, one as receiver.”

“I’ll receive,” Clyde said, reaching out to grasp Maria’s hand.

Maria concentrated, following Eddie’s instructions carefully as he guided her through the process of releasing the data to Clyde. She tried, and tried again. Then they switched, and Clyde tried without luck to release the history. Pair by pair, in every imaginable combination, they tried, but not a single human was capable of releasing the data. Not even Luke with his highly developed brain could get even an image out of the chips.

“The technology must be coded to Eddie’s genetic structure,” Luke suggested. “We can receive, but we cannot send.”

“Then I will tell the histories,” Eddie said resolutely. “All of them.”

“You can’t,” Maria said. “You’re only one person, and you’re sick.”

“There’s too many of them,” Clyde agreed. “It would take too long. Maybe Mister Smith can—“

“There is no time. The poison in me cannot be reversed, and I am dying.” Eddie faced Sarah Jane and Mister Smith and every human in the room with utter resolution in his expression. “My people are gone. My world is in ashes. I will not sleep, nor eat, nor die until our history is saved. Will you help me?”

There was a long silence as each person in the room considered exactly what they would do, were they in Eddie’s position.

“Of course we will,” Alan said quietly.

“Absolutely.” Clyde put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “That’s what we do. We help people.”

**

For six days, they worked in shifts, with the adults taking the bulk of the histories to accommodate the kids’ school schedules. ( _No, Clyde, this is not an excuse to skip classes._ ) Sarah pushed back as many of her deadlines as she could, and Alan and Maria practically camped out in the attic along with Clyde and Luke during evenings.

To his word, Eddie did not rest, although he did accept the food he was brought. With quiet determination, he relived his race’s history, shared them with these new friends.

To Maria, to Luke and Clyde, to Alan, he gave the sacred stories. He gave them the histories of the great people and the changing of the planet through the millennia.

To Sarah Jane, he gave the stories of common things, of mothers and younglings, of deaths and births. He gave her the stories of bravery and of kindness. One by one, the chips were read, each person growing and changing with the stories they were told. And finally, when everyone else had fallen asleep, when the last of his energy was almost spent, Eddie sat quietly across from Sarah Jane, releasing the last of the chips into her heart. He held her hand shakily, no longer strangers, but safe, comfortable, brother and sister. He let her support him, let her comfort him as the last of his race was shared with her.

“That’s the last one,” she whispered sadly, not wanting to wake the others.

“There is one more story I must tell, Sarah Jane. It is the most important story of all.”

She reached over to the neatly filed chips, useless now except a lovely pieces of art. “Which one—“

“It is not on a chip,” he said. “It is a new story, the last story of my people.” He took her hands in his and began to speak in his soft, musical voice.

_Out of the sky he fell, the traveler with no name. Into the mist he fell, lost and alone, forgotten. He looked up at unfamiliar stars and with the wind and the grass sang pity for his race._

_The gods heard his cry and found mercy for him. They sent him an angel, a teller of histories, an alien woman with kind voice and gentle ways, to share the gift of memory._

Sarah Jane listened to his words, and quietly began to cry.

The End  



End file.
